Nocturne
by Roadstergal
Summary: A gapfiller for The Naked Sun. Set the night before the meeting Elijah calls to wrap up the case. Slash.


Elijah did, eventually, manage to fall asleep, despite the distracting presence of Daneel in the corner. The robot's presence was terribly annoying. Elijah was not sure if the robot was there as a nursemaid or a bodyguard; either way, he resented Daneel's presence. But his irritation was no match for what had, indeed, been a harrowing day, and exhaustion eventually took him, pulling him into a restless sleep, one disrupted with flashes of those same strange dreams of Jessie.

It was pitch-black when he woke. Wakefulness came rapidly, as if in response to some sound or feeling. He blinked, disoriented - but as the mattress dipped slightly again, with another almost-inaudible whisper of sound, he realized what had woken him. And who, as well; he could not see in the darkness, but without looking, he could somehow sense the presence of Daneel - the robot who was quietly and gently climbing into bed with him.

Questions came to mind - "What are you doing?" primary among them. But Elijah did not waste his breath on that question, as the answer became rapidly obvious. A mouth covered his, and a warm, dry tongue slid in, with all of the gentleness - not to mention surety - that the robot used for every one of his actions. Daneel's hand moved with the same gentle confidence, sliding inside of Elijah's pajamas, running over his chest and down his side.

Elijah, startled and disoriented, _did_ fish out a good follow-up question - "Why are you doing this?" But it stuck in his throat. Why, indeed. A scene flitted into his head, of Daneel's impassive features after Elijah's first viewing of Gladia, concern imprinted onto that expressionless face by Elijah in response to the robot's words. Yes, the hearing was in the morning, and had Elijah done anything to dispel Daneel's fear that Gladia was exercising some... subtle sexual influence? No, and after all, it was true enough that she _was_. Daneel's small-hours timing confused Elijah, however - until the robot ran his hand down farther, reaching a part of Elijah that was betraying a strong excitement. How had that happened? Was it Gladia? His dreams of Jessie? Just a random nocturnal redistribution of blood?

It did not matter to Daneel, Elijah reflected - as well as he could reflect while being stroked by a hand that felt as human as any hand he had felt on himself in the past. The skin on Daneel's back felt equally human, as Elijah traced the bumps of perfectly simulated vertebrae. No, what mattered was that Daneel thought Elijah was in distress. It was obvious to anyone who cared to look to see that Elijah was frustrated by this planet, by this job, by Gladia, by _no Jessie_ - and then, when he was visibly symptomatic? To add to... what Daneel had his hand on, Elijah might have been talking in his sleep, as well. Jessie said he did it once in a while. Therefore, the First Law had kicked in. It all made perfect sense. Elijah felt simultaneously excited and annoyed, but the latter could not keep the former in check, as he bucked into Daneel's hand and opened his mouth to invite deeper kissing.

Daneel must have viewed some instructional manuals on human sexuality, Elijah mused vaguely, as the robot broke the kiss to slide down Elijah and take him in its mouth. Yes, _its_. Elijah felt a desperate need, in that moment, to think of Daneel as an _it_, an appliance that was using saliva from Elijah's mouth to lubricate the fellatio, as _it_ had no salivary glands installed. But the time had long passed when he could think of Daneel as an it. That was no _it_ who sucked with quiet assurance, whose too-tough, too-perfect hair Elijah grasped as he climaxed, choking out "Daneel... oh god..." Elijah shuddered in the throes of a particularly intense orgasm, only letting go of Daneel's hair when it passed, leaving him limp and enervated.

Daneel moved upwards with his everpresent precision to lie exactly face-to-face with Elijah. The human would have none of that; he buried his head in Daneel's warm chest, which was downed with very human-like hair. No heart beat under that chest, however. No, no heart, Elijah mused - and with that, no emotions, no wants, no drives. Only those Three Laws, guiding Daneel's every movement. What did it matter what Elijah felt, what he did, how he acted? Daneel would always act unselfishly, always for Elijah's interests - he was incapable of _not_ doing so. That ate at Elijah as he lay in the dark, exhausted, his head on that not-quite-human chest. The Three Laws gave a delightful facade of love, but what was the point to devotion when the devotee had no free will to choose otherwise? Daneel had no hedonistic drives for pleasure, either; even if his body were sexually functional - and why on Earth would his Fasolfe include _that_ functionality? - he would feel no pleasure if Elijah were to take him in hand or mouth or, Jehosephat, anywhere else.

"Partner Elijah? Are you well?" Daneel's voice buzzed in his chest against Elijah's face, and the human mumbled nothing in particular in lieu of a response. How was he supposed to answer _that_ question? Wellness would be away from this planet; wellness was back on Earth, with the humming of the City lulling him asleep at night, his wife in his arms. Wellness was not being trapped, playing an impossible game on a frightningly strange planet; wellness was not lying in a dark bedroom with love tugging three mutually exclusive directions. Love? No, how could you love an appliance, something that could not even understand the concept of love? It was like loving a shoe, or a table, or a groundcar. A groundcar that could think and speak, a groundcar that could sense your needs before you even could... no, it made no sense.

Exhaustion began to pull Elijah away from his musings. He tried not to think, before he slipped into a deep sleep, that Daneel would have to rise before the night was out to empty Elijah's semen out of his stomach-pouch.

When Elijah awoke the next day, Daneel was dressed and waiting, the same unreadable expression on his too-perfect face.


End file.
